


Hers

by LadyRazorsharp



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Blindfolds, Chocolate Covered Strawberries, Collars, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Leather, Light BDSM, Riding Crops, Safeword Use, liquid courage, scayo trash, scott needs someone to tell him what to do, she talked him into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRazorsharp/pseuds/LadyRazorsharp
Summary: Scott needs someone to tell him what to do. Kayo is more than happy to oblige.





	Hers

AN: For BowEcho, my fellow lover of Scayo trash. Enjoy! Heheheheh

Hers

He'd let her talk him into this. Now, standing here buck naked, blindfolded, hands bound before him (granted, with a leather strap rather than actual handcuffs) and listening to every unidentifiable sound coming from behind him, he isn't at all sure this is a good idea. He swallows, feeling his Adam's apple press against the collar buckled around his neck, decorated--although he’s fairly certain it’s more functional than decorative--with a silver ring. 

The whiskey he'd downed as liquid courage before this little escapade is burning in his gut, warring with the chocolate-covered strawberry he'd nibbled from her fingertips after the sumptuous chicken marsala dinner. Still, his body seems to be relaxing and his nerves are giving way to curiosity, so he guesses the liquor is doing its job. 

Finally, the sounds behind him settle, and he can hear the satisfying sound of someone pulling up a long zipper, accompanied by a creak of leather and the _pok pok pok_ of stiletto heels against hardwood. 

“Nice to know you finally have an occasion wear the boots I bought you,” he remarks. 

Pain explodes along his bare buttocks, and he jerks away from it, swearing. Then something touches his face, and he goes stock still as the unmistakable scent of leather fills his nose. 

“Quiet, you,” she snarls.

What is he supposed to say? Oh, right. “Yes ma'am.”

A feather-light touch crawls down his shoulder, across his chest and down his taut belly, then follows the line that separates his abs from his groin. He shivers, but says nothing. 

“I've heard about you, Scott Tracy.” Her voice is the purr of a jungle cat. “You're so rich, you think you can buy anything you want.” The touch--too light to be fingers and not ticklish enough to be an actual feather--swings around his hip and continues up across the well-defined muscles of his back. “Well, little prince, I'm here to tell you--there's one thing your money can't buy.”

“And what's that?” He asks, school-boy polite, but gasps as the red-hot sting blooms again--this time, against the small of his back. 

“Me,” she says. 

He clears his throat. “I wouldn't dream of it,” he reassures her. 

“Good. I'm glad we understand each other.” 

The blindfold--a length of black silk--slips from his face, and now he can see her. There she stands, dark hair tumbling over her tawny shoulders, eyes ringed with Kohl, lips stained a deep, matte red. The leather corset nips in her waist and pushes her fine breasts up and forward, an almost brutal invitation to touch their ample softness. Her boots are indeed the ones he bought, long and tall and black, with silver eyelets and black laces binding them to her long legs. 

Her shiny latex gloves look as if they are painted on, reaching to above her elbows. In her right hand she holds a stiff length of black leather, which ends in a leather-covered rectangle, like a tiny spatula. As he watches, she brings the object up and slaps it against her opposite palm, once, twice, as she studies his naked form. 

A riding crop. Well, he should have known. The sting across his ass is fading, but he has no doubt she'll contrive an excuse to use it again. 

At least, he hopes she will.

She is gorgeous, a captive flame, and he wants nothing more than for her to burn him until there's nothing left but ashes. 

As if she's heard his thoughts, she steps up and brushes the crop against his cheek. “What do you want, little prince?”

He knows the answer to this one. At least, he hopes he does, otherwise he's going to have some marks he'll have to explain tomorrow. “To please you,” he answers. 

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She puts a finger on his chest and traces the path her crop made moments ago. “And how do you imagine you're going to do that?”

He lets his eyelids drift to half mast. “Untie me and I'll show you,” he promises.

“I don't think so,” she quips. “Not yet.”

Oh, she's getting serious. He's been feeling the stirrings of his nether regions for the past few minutes, but now his cock is definitely beginning to get the message. He fervently hopes that's not against the rules.

She doesn't seem to notice, or she's not noticing _yet,_ and she hooks her finger through the ring on his collar and leads him to the bed. When they're there, she gives him a yank and he flops face down with a grunt. The toe of her boot prods his butt cheek. “Over,” she barks, and he complies meekly, rolling over to rest his bound hands on his belly. 

To his surprise, she draws a length of gleaming nickel-plated chain from under the bed--when the hell did she get that?--and threads it through the straps on his wrists. Slowly, she tugs his arms up and over his head, then fastens the chain to where he can't bring his hands down again. He is fully exposed and at her mercy, and he's pretty damn sure his dick could cut glass right now. 

He gasps; the riding crop is sliding along the hard length between his legs, and she grins wickedly. “Someone's excited,” she says, removing the crop and wrapping him in her cool latex digits. Just the pressure of her fingers alone makes him weak all over, and he groans. She squeezes gently and he groans again, eyes rolling back in his head. 

_Fuck,_ but he needs this. He’s always the one in control, all day, every day. To have some time where he has explicit instructions--with definite consequences--not to do anything but lay there and let her work him over is the biggest cocktease he’s ever encountered. When he’s good and spent, sweaty and sore and probably bleeding a little, she’ll hand over the reins again and it will be business as usual. Until then, he’s in thrall and she knows it.

In fact, he muses with some part of his brain not taken up by the utter clawing need to put his straining erection into one or another wet and welcoming orifice, this is probably why she’s suggested this whole affair. She sees him do his job and do it well, and hurts for him when he’s sweaty and sore and bleeding (more than a little) for reasons he’d rather forget.

Tonight is her gift to him, and he loves her all the more for it.

Right now, however, he’s more than a little scared of her. He has no idea where she learned how to assume the identity of a dominatrix, and frankly, he doesn’t want to know. This is a safe place, though, despite the teasing menace in her tone. He can walk the ragged edge, and she’ll be there to catch him. She’s both the high wire and the safety net, the cliff side and the anchor. 

She rolls off of him, leather creaking as she goes, and then she’s slipping a pillow beneath his head, raising his eyes to a level where she can see her standing at the foot of the bed. She leans forward to snatch at his nipple with her teeth as she pulls back, bringing a surprised grunt from him and a dark chuckle from her.

Slowly, she begins to unlace her corset--and then stops and glances up at him, olive-green eyes narrowing as she considers. He bites his lip; he knows that look, and it means she’s got something cooking in that quick mind of hers. With a grin, she moves back to the bed and unchains him, but doesn’t unbind his wrists. “You’re going to do something for me,” she hints, hooking her finger through the ring on his collar once again and bringing him into a sitting position. He obeys her every move like a trained pony, and scoots forward to sit with legs dangling over the edge of the bed. She’s standing in front of him, so close that he has to tilt his head up to look at her. In the first moment of tenderness they’ve shared in this entire escapade, she runs her fingers through his hair and lowers her face to his for a long, searching kiss. He attacks her mouth like a desert dweller encountering an oasis--that is, until her fingers tighten and she yanks his head back so he can look up at her with wide blue eyes. 

She brushes her corset with her slick fingers. “Take it off,” she demands.

“Uh,” he begins, but her fingers tighten and twist, turning the noise into a yelp. “I’d love to but--aggh! How can I--” he gestures with his bound hands.

“You’re a smart boy,” she purrs, her teeth pulling gently at his earlobe. “You figure it out.”

He _is smart_ , and she’s given him a clue. “Yes ma’am,” he says, and she releases him but doesn’t move back. With his teeth, he grabs the end of the leather lace that’s trailing against his cheek, then pulls back and unties the perfect bow in the front. His reward, he discovers, is her stretching one arm over her head, peeling off her glove, and then sliding her bare hand down between his legs.

Oh, hell, she is _not_ playing fair, not that he expected her to. He’s not sure he can concentrate enough to do this while she’s got him in her hand, but he’s going to give it his best shot.

By the time he’s pulled and tugged the laces halfway out, his teeth are aching, his neck is getting a cramp, and she’s brought him to the edge of exploding all over her so many times he’s beginning to see stars. He can hardly breathe, and although he doesn’t want to--oh, God he doesn’t want to--he has to use it. 

_“Kayo,”_ he begs.

Instantly, his hands are unbound and her corset is on the floor. She’s pressing him backwards, her hands gentle once more, and he moves back as she directs so that he is fully stretched out the length of the bed. The scrap of black lace around her hips is no obstacle to his strong fingers, and he makes short work of it the instant before she settles over him.

They cry out at the same moment, him at the hot wetness that envelops him and her at the strength that fills her completely. It doesn’t take much; a few gasps and hard bucks of his hips against hers sends him rocketing away like he’s sitting in the cockpit of his ‘Bird, hair on fire and every cell straining, reaching for that one more burst of speed until--until--

She screeches, words tumbling from her lips in a language he’s heard her use only when she doesn’t want to catch hell over the comms. He reaches up to lap at her nipples, making her writhe and pelt him with more scorching words. Finally, she lays her hand over his mouth, pressing briefly.

“Enough,” she pants, removing her hand and smiling down at him.

He grins, giving her one last lick. “Are you sure?”

“Ah! Yes,” she laughs, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her breasts. “Yes. Very sure.”

“Okay.” He sighs, gazing up at her with all the love he can muster. “You’re amazing. How’d I do?”

She returns his gaze, running her thumb across his cheek. “Fantastic.” Her grin regains a bit of naughtiness. “You were a very, very good boy.”

He winks at her. “I’ll be even better next time.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Oh, really?” She hooks a finger around the ring of the collar still around his neck and pulls him close. “You’ve got a lot to learn, little prince,” she purrs, then climbs off and lets him watch her walk away.

-End-


End file.
